


The Hive

by oneeyed_hellhound



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Carapaces, Derse, M/M, really only ssslight ssdd more like pre-ssdd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 19:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2201013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneeyed_hellhound/pseuds/oneeyed_hellhound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The origins of the Archagent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hive

**Author's Note:**

> something that started as background of slick's fears and grew into something bigger

_We all start somewhere._

 

The first thing you remember isn't darkness.  When everything you know is darkness, you don’t see it that way.  It’s just there, and then it isn't.  

The first thing you remember is what water felt like.  What it felt like when it was inside your lungs like you were meant to be some sort of fish.  But you weren't  a fish, and the water that had been in you since you were a single cell was suddenly _not_ meant to be there.  Lungs started working, and the first inhale--

Water.  You coughed, chest aching a little when it was just more of the same that went in with a gasp.  You didn't recall being in anything other than water before, but then again, you didn't recall _anything_ before that first suffocated breath.  You found that a little unfair, kind of wishing you had been eased into awareness rather than suddenly able to recognize how very fucking shitty this situation is.

Your hand twitched, moving-- you could move now too, how about that-- up to your mouth, trying to keep water from going in.  Something sick curled in your gut and stayed there while you kept up the useless choking.  What if you died here.  What if this was hell, being born over and over to only die endlessly and being aware of every second--

Panic.  Confusion.  Trapped.  You finally opened your eyes to a world of runny watercolors, the water making everything blurred.  You barely made out figures milling around the tank.  Out there.  Beyond this personal nightmare of yours.  

It came to you all at once, lucid realization that would've made you wince if you weren't busy thrashing against a newborn death:

_So I was made here.  Well shit._

The water started to drain out.  You almost decided to give up and die on the people out there just from spite, because how dare they make you go through this, make you and throw you into life like it was no fucking big deal.  

But goddammit if you didn't want to live.  You didn't want to be some nameless bastard choking on his own creation, that was fucking sad.

You coughed on your first breath of air, and it felt like breathing needles, muscles screaming while you dropped against the side of the glass, spewing water out like you were made of it.  Air seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world right now, who didn't like air, air was obviously the height of experience and nothing could get better than just staying here for a while to breathe.

So of course the wall slid out seconds later and left you slipping out onto the floor.  Fucking useless shit walls were, if they kept fucking _sliding_ like that.  You didn't go to show it who was boss, because you were currently a shaking puddle on the floor.

You were cold, you were soaked to the skin, you were still coughing, the floor was really hard and you think you bruised your side hitting it, and when you found the motivation to look around it didn't get any better.

Uniforms and uniform faces filed past, several glancing from their position at a control panel before walking over to you.  

The blank expressions on their faces didn't improve your opinion of the whole business, especially when two pulled you up by your shoulders and set you roughly on your feet.  You growled out of reflex, shaking them off, only to have a hand at your jaw and inspecting it and-- wait what the fuck were they doing, you snarled as they checked your teeth, shined a light in one eye, tugged an arm to check it.

“Good condition, no defects.  Cancel the back-up production,”  one of them said, muttering.  You realized that the expression wasn’t blank at all.  You recognized weariness, something like cynicism in dull eyes that barely met yours before checking a list and grabbing your shoulder again to tug you along.

“Where--”  You began to ask, voice hoarse and the words feeling odd on your tongue.

“It’s all explained later.  This way.”  You heard a hint of an irritated sigh in the reply, and you figured now wasn’t the time to make a terse comeback involving snarls and snapping those sharp teeth at their throat.

You happened to look up at your surroundings.

You were still getting to know yourself, but you didn’t think you were one to startle easily.

The vastness of what was around you made you jump out of your skin, breath taken away like you were submerged in a vat again.  

You felt a little dizzy, because it was impossible.  No exaggeration, you were pretty sure angles and curves and stairways didn't work that way.  Rows upon columns upon layers winding around in helixes, folds, and vanishing points of light that made your eyes hurt.

The words _hive_ and _legion_ came to mind.

Every available space was stuffed with them.  The tanks.  You glanced back, and saw them shutting down the one you were just in.  

You glanced up.  A constant movement buzzed across the surface of the pods, the newly manufactured rushed out to be filled with fluid again, preparing the next batch.

What the fuck made you so special.  

You left that tangent behind as you were suddenly forced into a chair, naturally making a huge loud protest about the whole thing only to be told to keep your eyes forward.  A searing pain in your arm moments later, arm held down while you screeched, head snapping around to find out what the hell was wrong now.

A machine, great, more fucking machines.  A laser-fine needle danced across your wrist, the pain turning into a dull burn as the lines meshed into a barcode.  You weren't so much scared as startled, maybe a little indignant at being branded like this… and a small corner of yourself aching when the last bit was tattooed into place.  Because now it was done, and without much more than a pitiful yell to try to stop it.  

You were yanked back to your feet, only now a folded uniform shoved into your chest while you hugged the marred arm close to yourself.  The livestock theme was stuck in your head, and you were left frowning down at your arm, your naked ass self, the teeming workers around you, the new ones being churned out by the second and herded along.  You were distracted with that until you were pushed, again, this time in the direction of a transport in a clearing of the hive.  You were the last one on, and it looked like they’d been waiting a while, a spectrum of awe, fear, and confusion on all their faces.  You didn't see any anger though.

And you were pretty sure you were angry.

You barely scrambled into the pants, tripping over new feet, and climbed into the vehicle, sitting in the back corner.  You got in because what else was there at this point-- you didn't feel happy about it, but you weren't even sure there was an alternative.  You were still shivering, still coughing a little.  You didn't strike up conversation.  What did they do for you, and what the hell would you talk to them about.

There’s someone next to you-- well duh, the place was crowded.  But immediately to your right, there’s some tall lanky guy leaned back like this was the hundredth time he’d gone through this...if it wasn't for the way his head was poised to listen and watch everything.  He was quiet, like you, and turned dark eyes to look at you.  

“What’s your name.”

You blinked, about to respond that you didn't have a name, until something clicked in your mental hard-wiring, and your voice came unaided by thought.  “Jack Noir, Archagent of Derse and loyal to Her Majesty the Black Queen,” you barked out, posture stiffening with a military air as you rattled it off.  A second passed uneasily, and suddenly this all seemed a notch more disturbing than before.

“How...how did I--”

“Coding.”  The other tapped the side of his head, expression somewhere between amused and sympathetic and hard to tell which won out.  “Speech, rank, knowledge, obedience… that sort of thing.”

You blinked at him.  “Well that’s fuckin creepy isn't it,” you grumbled, rubbing the back of your own head and giving a cough.

“Is it?”  You refocused on him, and his eyebrow was quirked in a way you didn't think was possible for most mortals.

“Well yeah, I mean they’re in yer head aren't they?  Pullin strings and shit?”  

He sighed through his nose lazily, and you squinted at him.  “I wonder then, are you not part of that _they_?”

You were left in silence, because you hadn't thought of that… You knew that as Archagent, you were really in charge of all this...Hell, aside from the Queen, you were the fucking poster child of Derse and the war.

Silence, a shiver, since you hadn't really bothered to put on anything other than the pants and wanted to see how far you could go out of spite.

“Dignitary.  Draconian Dignitary.  And if you’re Jack Noir--”  The transport stopped suddenly, and you jolted against his shoulder from the momentum.  You huffed, scrambling back and shrugging off the other’s odd smile.

An offered hand… well, first day alive wasn't the best time to be making enemies, and something...something about him made you pause, feel off-balance.  Or maybe unused to whatever passed as camaraderie in this world.

The hand pulled you to standing.

“Then welcome to Derse, boss.”

 

 

 


End file.
